


Ritual

by DudeSmashMyWindows



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Album: Demon Days (Gorillaz), Biting, Gen, Nightmares, Other, Phase Two (Gorillaz), Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25783750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DudeSmashMyWindows/pseuds/DudeSmashMyWindows
Summary: "It was raining again, as it nearly always was. But tonight, the darkness hung thicker than usual."Murdoc finds it's a perfect night for a hexing. A.k.a., the story of how 2D got those bite marks on the Demon Days cover.
Kudos: 23





	Ritual

**Author's Note:**

> Spiritual successor to "Dreams OR Cotton Candy"; if you haven't read that one... go do so, ya sweet cretin. Nah, just kidding, it doesn't matter.

It was raining again, as it nearly always was. But tonight, the darkness hung thicker than usual. The clouds were stormy, the wind rustled the tall, dying grass with more force. Lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the strange, alien landscape of Kong Studios for a moment before it faded back into the hazy shadows of dusk.

Murdoc Niccals grinned as he witnessed the beauty from his window, which was thrown wide open. The wind tossed his hair against his face, and the scent of unrest within it made him feel so _alive_. There was going to be a terrible storm. He could already hear trees falling in the distance, and with each flash of lightning, the chance of additional destruction increased.

It was a beautiful night indeed.

The halls of Kong were silent. Eerily so. The lost spirits that usually haunted the corners at night, making their presence known with soft steps and whispers, were mute. As if they'd vanished into the ether. The living beings – his bandmates – were also still. Sleeping, he assumed, or just chilling. Maybe just looking up at the ceiling in the dark.

He couldn't imagine anyone sleeping through a night like this, but then – they didn't know what he knew.

Tonight was perfect for a ritual.

The land was disturbed. Unease, unrest, melancholy, concern... The emotions flooded the air, mingling to create a mood that Murdoc could only describe as Anti-Heaven. Which of course, was the closest thing to Hell you could get on earth.

Continued success. Riches. Fame. That was what Murdoc wanted to bestow on himself. Or on Gorillaz. Whichever name you preferred, it was all the same to him.

_Moira._

It was the best conjuration he knew. You bestowed Moira on a living subject of your choosing in three basic steps.

1, You surround subject with six burning candles and a skank incense.

2, You whisper the incantation of Moira directly above your subject.

3, You bite subject in any part of the body, hard enough to draw blood, sealing in the Moira.

Also, there were certain conditions.

The subject could not be conscious of what was happening to it. If, at any point during the ritual, it became aware, the Moira would slip away. Knowing after the fact was fine. So was knowing before the fact. But being conscious of it during the actual ceremony was not.

And of course, the balance and timing had to be right. You couldn't just perform this on any day and expect it to work. You had to be fine-tuned to the changes in atmosphere, so you would know when the atmosphere was perfect.

And Murdoc, having made more than a few little deals with the devil in his lifetime, was better-tuned than a TV addict's television.

Noiselessly he made his way down the dank stairway and stopped in front of Stuart's door.

Of course 2D was his target. Did he really want to hex Stuart with a powerful thing like Moira? No. Hell no. He'd much rather have it himself.

But no one except Stuart would do. Noodle, despite all the growing up she'd done between first joining Gorillaz and now, was still a fidgety child, prone to waking in the middle of the night and... dancing? He really wasn't sure, but since she'd likely kill him if she caught him sneaking into her room, he wasn't trying to find out.

And Russel, while being more likely to sleep through the whole thing, especially if he'd been on one of his eating binges, had far too many spiritual entities floating around him. Not only would they cause a disturbance just by being there, Del was liable to straight up kick Murdoc's ass if he felt him exuding Satanic energy (more than usual, anyway). How effectively the spirit could do this was another thing Murdoc wasn't trying to find out.

So 2D was the only remaining option. But he was also perfect for it. Dim-witted, slow, badly addicted to painkillers.

Such a beautiful combination.

He wouldn't know what happened. He wouldn't even think about the possibility until it was far too late.

Murdoc grinned as he gently pushed open 2D's door. He expected he'd have to pick the lock a bit, but good ol' Two-Dents hadn't even locked the door. Immediately upon entering Murdoc frowned, pursing his lips in disapproval. Even in the dark, he could see how barmy this room was – not that he didn't already know.

He'd seen it countless times before, but damn, it still managed to inspire fresh disgust in him.

“The only time this place wasn't a funky shithole was when I 'ad it,” Murdoc thought, gawking at the silhouette of a disco ball on the ceiling and the eerie neon lights that glowed dimly in the room. “ _Shit_ ,” he grumbled mentally, as he stepped carefully over the junk on the floor, taking great pains not to make a sound. He looked hard at 2D. Scrutinizing.

2D lay on the bed, not under the covers per usual, his long legs extending slightly over the edge of the mattress. It looked like he'd fallen asleep in his clothes; his blue jeans and faded sweater were wrinkled and mussy. In fact, everything about 2D looked mussy, from the scattered bottles all over his night-table to the awkward angle he was sleeping in.

_Scattered bottles_. Murdoc zeroed in on them. Painkiller prescriptions, mainly: Ibuprofen, Excedrin, _yada yada yada, who cares_... but hold on, hold on. What was this?

Some kind of alcohol. Brandless. Murdoc cautiously lifted it and took a sniff. Fairly strong. And familiar, so familiar. Murdoc stared at the sleeping 2D with a raised eyebrow. “If you stole some of my liquor, Faceache... well.” He grinned, relishing in the evil thoughts.

But he wasn't actually angry. The blue-haired trouser snake should consider himself lucky; any other time he'd have bashed his head in already. But this time was different. 2D was tripped out on painkillers _and_ he was drunk. Very drunk. In other words, out for a long time. Which was perfect in this situation.

Murdoc kicked the junk out of his way, no longer worried about the noise; and, once he'd cleared out a space, dragged 2D from the bed and laid him down on the floor.

“Just stay there, boots,” he smirked, rubbing his hands – he was already enjoying this too much. “I'll be rrright back.”

* * *

Murdoc's Hell Chamber, as Noodle had coined it the one (and only) time she'd been down there, was a place that even Murdoc didn't visit very often.

Not because he didn't like it down there, all dark and hidden away, full of smoke and fire and all those delicious things. No, it's just that he knew if he was going to stay the dominant force of the Universe - the Gorillaz Universe, at least - he had to be on top of things, not hidden away in a place that left him oblivious to the outside world.

Still, he relished every time he _did_ need to visit it for something, and now, as he took his large chest branded with 666 from the depths of the chamber, he took a deep breath, just drinking in the atmosphere for a second.

Back in 2D's room, he opened the chest firmly and began arranging the six candles, making sure he chose one candle that was coated in asphalt so he could get the skank odor without any extra work.

_If anything, 2D already has the skank._

Murdoc smirked again. He liked the smell of 2D's room, actually; it was rank with cigarettes, junk food, peppermints, and leaves - just classic for someone whose last name is Pot. It reminded him a bit of his own Winnebago – but ten times less cool.

As the candles burned slowly, their flames swaying gently back and forth, Murdoc began whispering the Moira incantations.

Repeated them over and over.

It was boring, yeah. Very boring.

But he kept his concentration, keeping a steady sincerity to his gentle words as he glanced around 2D's room. He didn't even know why he bothered - it was eye sodomy.

Keyboards stuck out against the walls, looking like disembodied mutants in the dark. A picture of some bearded old wanker hanging in a frame. Old underwears, some cheap-looking sneakers. And pink boxers? What the hell was 2D thinking.

“Terrible taste, terrible style,” Murdoc groused to himself, even while keeping the tone of his voice mellow for the chant. “God knows why they choose you over me... 'cuz God's a bloody tosser.” He frowned thinking about it.

Fans, reporters, interviewers, cameras – everybody focused on 2D. He was the frontman, the magnet. Awkward and manky as he was, everyone flocked around him because of the angelic sounds that jumped from his throat. Sometimes it pissed Murdoc off... but at the end of the day, Gorillaz was _his_ band and any success they had ultimately fell to him. So who cared, right?

Still made him feel knotty, though...

Murdoc was surprised out of his thoughts, and even out of his cantations, by a sudden sigh from 2D. At first Murdoc's heart skipped a beat, dreading the thought of all his effort going down the pisser in one fell swoop.

But when he looked down at 2D, he realized the boy was sleeping as heavily as ever. But now, if the pained expression on his face was anything to go by, he was having some kind of nightmare.

Murdoc didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Thank Satan the Moira was just about over.

It was interesting, how everything seemed to be coming together. The breeze grew stronger as the strength of the spell grew, swaying the candlelight back and forth in a haze of power. The wind rattled the gates outside, and the rain came down heavier than ever. 2D was breathing faster, harder, a few disoriented groans slipping from his throat. No doubt from whatever stupid nonsense he had going on in his head, but Murdoc wanted to believe it was the spell working on him.

“Don't wake up,” he was thinking. “It's seeping in.”

A crash of thunder, and lightning flashed – not that it could be seen down in the basement. But Murdoc could feel it. He knew it happened.

He also knew it was over.

The _Moira_ was floating on 2D's soul.

Now for the bite, to seal it. Murdoc bared his razor-sharp teeth with no hesitation and went in for the kill on 2D's neck. The intrusions were deep, but he'd punctured slowly so it wouldn't shock 2D awake. Not that he looked anywhere close to consciousness anyway.

The blood oozed out of 2D's neck in a slow trickle, running down into his collar. It was slightly surreal, watching him lay there, the twisted expression on his face. He was clearly disturbed, but it wasn't from the pain of reality. It was all in his head.

“ _Aim_... _forehead_...” he grunted, his eyes fluttering. Murdoc stared at him, genuinely curious. “What are you on about. Eh?” As if 2D could answer him. But in a moment he'd pieced it together. “Day of the Dead.” Or “Night of the Living Dead,” fuck if he could remember the title. A zombie film, naturally. Some guy had been ordering the others to do this - “shoot them in the forehead, they die instantly.”

Utter bullshit. “Why d'ya even bother, that's what I'd like to know,” Murdoc grumbled, gathering his artefacts and putting them in the chest. “Them zombie films are total rubbish. Day of the Dead, or Dawn of the Dead, or whate'er the shit was called, I don't give a right damn...”

2D only grunted again, his voice weary and slurred from narcotics. “' _M_... _not gonna_... _die_...”

“Fine then, suit yourself.” And grinning at what was, in his typical state of drunken idiocy, a hilarious joke, Murdoc snapped his chest shut and left the room, much more noisy and carefree than he'd entered it.

* * *

The next day, Russel eyed 2D curiously in the dressing room, eyebrow raised. “Looks like someone had a bit too much fun last night.” he said.

“What?” 2D said flatly, doing a line. He had a migraine so intense it was making him squint, and all he wanted to do was get high.

Russel simply pointed to 2D's neck. 2D looked into the mirror, confused, then slowly widened his pitch-black eyes. A good three or four marks stood out starkly on the side of his scrag, bloated and swollen until they almost looked like hickeys. He was stunned, but felt too drained from the pounding on his skull to react with more than a weary grunt of dismissal. “It was the cat,” he said, light sarcasm in his voice.

“ _Sure_.” Russel answered in the same tone.

Murdoc stuck his head in, his red eye gleaming. “Hey, brrrrraatas,” he rasped, pointing his bottle of Jack Daniel's at them. “What do ya say we start the shoot. Eh?”

**Author's Note:**

> Oblig disclaimer: Characters are the property of Damon and Jamie. I don't own them, nor am I profiting from this work.


End file.
